


Regression

by shalako



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, abusive father/son relationship, past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 10:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12839310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shalako/pseuds/shalako
Summary: The one where Gold sucks his thumb and I wonder if this is how I want to be remembered when I'm gone.





	Regression

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, what is this? I don't know either. I wrote it one night when I was really drunk and convinced myself no one else would ever want to read it, so it's been sitting in my drafts for probably two years or more.

“Gold,” Archie said gently. Gold’s eyes flickered up to him; he was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book, and he’d been so thoroughly absorbed in it that he hadn’t noticed Archie calling him until now, with the other man’s hand on his shoulder and still damp from washing the dishes.

Gold raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes slightly in a silent question. He didn’t like the awkward smile Archie gave him in return.

“You’re … you’re sucking your thumb,” Archie said, sounding apologetic for pointing it out. Gold suddenly became hyper-aware of it - the taste of skin in his mouth, the slight pain in his thumb from biting it. He slapped his hand down to the table and felt heat rushing to his face.

“I wasn’t--” he started, but Archie cut him off.

“It’s fine. Don’t be embarrassed.”

Archie was the only person Gold ever met who could interrupt people in a soft voice and still get people to listen to him.

“I’m not embarrassed,” Gold said, fighting back a blush. “Anyway, I wasn’t - I wasn’t doing … _that_. I was just … biting my nails.”

“Oh,” Archie said. He moved back to the sink and pulled a dirty plate from the soapy water, but he didn’t start scrubbing it yet. Instead, he looked over his shoulder and gave Gold a measured look. “I guess I just thought you were sucking your thumb cuz … well, usually you are.”

Gold stared at him, aghast. He was fairly certain this was the first time he’d _ever_ done it - he couldn’t remember even sucking his thumb as a child.

Which, of course, was Archie’s next question.

“Sometimes people revert back to childhood habits,” he said, “when they’re anxious or scared. It’s a soothing technique. Did you suck your thumb as a kid?”

“ _Never_ ,” said Gold firmly. “And I wasn’t doing it just _now_ , either, or ever before. So drop it.”

Archie nodded, his face carefully blank. He ran a sponge over the plate and for a few brief moments, there was silence.

“Well,” said Archie, his voice deceptively innocent, “sometimes, when you’re having a nightmare, you start sucking your thumb.”

Gold glared at him.

“And sometimes you just do it absent-mindedly, when you’re about to do something you don’t like. Like when you have to collect rent from the nuns, or when you have a doctor’s appointment.”

Gold’s ears felt like they were burning, and he knew they had to be turning bright red by now. He was grateful his hair covered them.

“I don’t have any reason to avoid the nuns,” he said, not caring that it was a blatant lie, or that he’d told Archie about it himself. “And I don’t have a fear of the doctor, so I fail to see why I would do something so infantile in response to _that_.”

Archie’s eyebrows shot up. “You do too have a fear of the doctor,” he said. “The only way you’ll go to appointments is if I make you. And I have to drive you there or you’ll just skip it and pretend you went.”

Gold huffed and looked away; he deliberately ignored Archie as the other man abandoned the dishes in the sink and moved forward, eventually settling in the chair across from Gold. In a moment, Gold’s hand - the one still on the table and not supporting his chin - was covered by Archie’s.

“You could at least dry your hands before touching me,” Gold groused without much venom. “That’s the second time in ten minutes.”

He could practically hear Archie searching for something diplomatic to say.

“Gold,” Archie said finally, his voice gentle, “it’s okay if you’re embarrassed over this. I want you to know it’s  _very_ common for adults to regress to childhood behaviors, especially during times of stress. And I know you might not feel particularly stressed at the moment, but you do … well …”

Archie paused for a moment, struggling for words. Gold’s eyes, flat and lifeless, flickered to Archie and then away again. He hoped he looked as disdainful as he felt.

“You have certain behaviors,” said Archie carefully, “that some would see as symptoms of severe anxiety and depression. And some people … considering your past … might even classify those symptoms as PTSD. Which is, uh, post-traumatic--”

“Yes, I own a dictionary, thank you,” Gold snapped, snatching his hand away. “You can save the definitions.”

Archie nodded graciously. “You know what PTSD is?” he asked.

Gold gave a humorless snort. “Everyone knows what PTSD is,” he muttered. Louder, for Archie’s benefit, “I suspect anyone with a television set has heard of it. A newscaster reads about it off his teleprompter on one channel and an emotionless TV cop babbles about it on another as they handcuff the ex-military serial killer and send him to jail.”

“PTSD doesn’t turn people into killers,” said Archie firmly. “It’s not a disease for criminals - there _are_ no diseases for criminals. It’s--”

“I _know_ what it is, Archie,” Gold said, his voice crisp. “You must have missed that the first two times I said it.”

Archie sighed and sat back a little, glaring at the table. Gold’s fingers twitched; when Archie’s eyes swept back to him, Gold realized he was biting down hard on his own knuckles, and he quickly placed his hands in his lap, where Archie couldn’t see them.

“Gold,” said Archie finally, “have you ever been diagnosed?”

“With PTSD?” Gold asked. He could have saved time by just saying “no” -- after all, he’d never been diagnosed with _anything_ \-- but he was still rankled over the particular condition Archie ascribed to him.

“Yes,” said Archie. There was weariness in his eyes.

“No,” said Gold. “And I fail to see why I should be.”

“Your childhood, maybe?” Archie pointed out. Gold’s rage froze over for a moment, but his glare only hardened. When he spoke, he was positively frosty.

“I had a _fine_ childhood,” he said. “Don’t project your own issues onto me.”

Archie’s jaw clenched; he blinked rapidly, obviously hurt, and drew away from the table.

“Okay,” he said, striding purposefully toward the doorway. “If you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s fine. I’m sure everyone in town will understand when they see you sucking your thumb like a little boy.”

Gold glared down at the table, his cheeks burning again. He refused to believe that he’d been sucking his thumb - he’d always had a bad habit of biting his fingers when he was nervous, a habit so ingrained he rarely noticed it. But he assumed that people who saw him would _know_ he was biting them. He didn’t know what he looked like when he was doing it -- did it even _look_ the same as thumb-sucking?

God, he hoped not. He prayed that Archie was wrong, or just being stubborn. But it wasn’t like Archie to be so forceful, especially if he had any shred of a doubt of what was going on.

(And now Gold had pissed him off. He shouldn’t have made that jab about Archie’s childhood. It was the lowest blow he could possibly pull and now his stomach felt tight and twisted from guilt.)

And his thumb was in his mouth again. Fuck.

\----------------------------------------------------

Gold made himself scarce as long as he could, until Archie was in bed and sleep was pulling at his eyelids. He fought with himself for a long time over where to sleep; should he join Archie or just sleep on the couch? Or he could gather up his clothes and go back to his own house and sleep there. He hadn’t been back home in at least a month; there was nothing he needed there at this point.

But running away was a cowardly move. Gold hesitated outside his and Archie’s bedroom, listening to Archie snore. He would have to wake Archie up when he got in bed. And he’d have to apologize. But what would he say?

Gold started nibbling on his thumb; at the same time, anxiety gnawed at his stomach, like it was purposely copying him. Standing outside worrying about what to say wouldn’t fix anything, and Gold knew it, so eventually he took a deep breath and walked in.

The bedroom was horribly dark; when Gold’s eyes adjusted, he could make out Archie sleeping peacefully, unaware that Gold had entered the room. Gold took a quick, somewhat shaky breath and made his way carefully over to the dresser. He pulled the middle drawer open slowly, trying to avoid any loud creaks. The sound of wood scraping against wood still sounded maddeningly loud to him.

He pulled the drawer open about an inch - as far as he dared - and slid a pair of pajama bottoms out. He held them close to his face, squinting to make out any details, and rolled his eyes when he realized they were Archie’s - several sizes too big, made of stiflingly warm cotton, and stamped with some awful Disney print that Gold couldn’t even identify. But there was no one to see what he was wearing, so Gold sucked it up and slipped his trousers off so he could put them on.

He eased the closet door open and removed the rest of his suit, hanging it up as silently as he could, without even a clink from the clothes-hangers. He grabbed a pullover and stifled a groan when it turned out to be, once again, Archie’s. At this point, Gold was practically swimming in his pajamas.

Archie rolled over, bringing his arm up to where Gold would normally be sleeping. Gold watched this, a lump forming suddenly in his throat. He set his cane against the wall and slid into bed, no longer slow and careful. Archie didn’t wake; with a sigh, Gold positioned himself so he was almost laying down and put a hand on Archie’s shoulder, shaking him awake.

“Archie?” Gold said. He waited until the other man’s eyes fluttered open. Gold opened his mouth to speak, but his breath caught in his throat; it was much harder to apologize when Archie was making direct eye contact. “I’m s-sorry,” he said, and then paused a moment to thoroughly berate himself for stuttering. “For what I said earlier. It was … the worst possible thing to say, and …”

Gold was quiet for a long time, his face heated. That damn lump was still in his throat, making it hard to breathe. He needed to open his mouth and take a few deep breaths, but then Archie would know he was upset and he’d want to talk about it, and --

“It’s okay,” said Archie, his voice sleepy. He pushed the blanket down and reached toward Gold, and for a moment Gold thought Archie was gonna do something awkward, like pat his shoulder. Or his cheek. But instead, Archie’s hand landed flat on Gold’s back, rubbing in slow circles.

“Breathe,” Archie said. “You’re okay.”

Gold nearly choked on air. “I’m _fine_!” he said, ignoring how wet his eyes were. “You -- _you’re_ the one who should be upset, I -- are you okay, Archie?”

Archie’s chest spasmed in an attempt to hide a giggle. Gold huffed out a laugh of his own and took that moment of distraction to bend his head down, wiping his eyes on his sleeve while Archie wasn’t looking. A moment later, Archie was rubbing his back again, this time with a soft smile on his face.

“I’m okay,” Archie said, and Gold could feel the weight in his chest disappearing. “And I forgive you. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you about it to begin with.”

“Right,” said Gold uneasily. He quickly steered the conversation away to something else. “Do you have any appointments tomorrow?”

“A few,” said Archie. “We can have lunch together.”

Gold hummed his approval; he rolled over until his head was on Archie’s chest, so he could hear the other man’s heartbeat. Their legs twisted together - with both of them wearing Archie’s thick cotton pajamas, this proved more difficult than usual, but soon they were settled and Archie pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Gold’s head.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” Gold replied.

As Archie drifted off to sleep, Gold remembered two things: he hadn’t taken his sleeping pills, and Archie had said he sucked his thumb when he had nightmares.

It probably wasn’t true. And he probably wouldn’t have a nightmare tonight, anyway.

But Gold tucked his hands carefully between Archie’s back and the mattress, pinning them there for the rest of the night.

* * *

It was getting close to winter now; as the weeks passed, Archie got to enjoy one of the sweeter aspects of dating Gold: the silent, unexplained appearance of practical gifts that Archie couldn’t afford.

It wasn’t uncommon, as the seasons changed, for Archie to find new clothes tucked away in his closet, almost hidden by his natty old sweaters and patched-up shirts. Gold wasn’t one to spare expenses; with the temperature dropping, Archie frequently came home to find warm new blankets thrown over the couch or folded at the foot of the bed.

Today, he opened his closet to hang up his coat and saw something green at the very back. Archie hesitated for a moment; he didn’t own anything green, did he? If he did, it was definitely a lot more dull than this.

He reached into the back and pulled out an incredibly thick, hand-woven sweater in green wool. Archie gaped at it for a moment before checking the tag; it was an import from Ireland. This had to be expensive as _fuck_.

“Gold?” Archie called, before remembering that Gold was still at the pawnshop. He examined the sweater one more time before laying it out on the bed gently so he could take off the ancient shirt he was wearing and put it on.

It was a little itchy. Archie stepped in front of the mirror, studying himself. The sweater fit exceptionally well; he remembered Gold telling him once that he’d been a tailor for years before he struck it rich. He must have been pretty talented, considering he managed to guess Archie’s measurements so well.

 _Green is really my color_ , Archie thought, giving his reflection a satisfied look. He glanced at his watch; it was still three hours until Gold came home. He ought to stop by the pawnshop to thank him; Gold _hated_ it when Archie thanked him for things. He got horribly embarrassed, but Archie kind of liked the way Gold looked when he was blushing.

Archie set out cheerfully; in this sweater and his coat, even the cold Maine wind couldn’t hurt him. When he got to the pawnshop, his nose was pink but he was whistling merrily. Then he opened the door and saw Gold, and his smile dropped.

“Hey,” said Gold, barely looking up from his inventory. His thumb was in his mouth and he removed it briefly to speak. “I see you found the sweater.”

“Yeah,” said Archie. He’d suddenly lost his enthusiasm; he flipped the sign in the door so it read _Closed_ and crossed the room. Gold didn’t look up until he felt Archie’s gentle grip on his wrist, tugging his thumb out of his mouth.

Archie could tell the exact moment when Gold realized what he’d been doing. His eyes widened by a fraction and he clamped his mouth shut, looking downright horrified.

He and Archie stared at each other for a while, neither saying anything. Gold’s eyes flickered to the door and he looked incredibly relieved to see that Archie had flipped the sign; it would be a nightmare if someone had walked in and seen him.

“I’m appalled,” Gold said simply. Archie gave him a look that was half-sympathetic and half-amused.

“What’s eating you?” he asked. Gold gave him a confused look.

“What?”

“Are you nervous about something?” Archie asked. “Why were you--?”

Gold gave a jerky shrug, his gaze shifting away. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I don’t know why …”

He _did_ know, but he couldn’t admit it to Archie. Which was especially annoying because he’d been trying to think of exactly how to tell Archie what had happened since … well, since this morning, when it happened.

He looked down at the counter, avoiding Archie’s gaze. Archie didn’t know that Gold’s dad called him sometimes, or even came to visit now and then. Today had been something of a double-blow: Malcolm had gone to Gold’s house, found it empty, and called him angrily, demanding to know why his son was avoiding him.

Of course, if Malcolm bothered to learn more about his son, he’d have known Gold was at work. Gold could feel his temper flaring up again; Archie didn’t know it, but this was the second time today that Gold had closed the shop. When his father called, there had been customers inside browsing, and Gold was certain they’d heard at least the first few abuse-laden sentences Malcolm had thrown at him.

He ought to tell Archie. Gold knew himself, and he was always, privately, brutally honest. He knew what would happen because it was what always happened.

Step One: Malcolm comes crawling back into Gold’s life. He begs for forgiveness. He swears he’ll be a good father. Gold gives him a chance, and Malcolm is loving and sweet.

Step Two: The sweetness passes. Malcolm starts asking for money. When Gold doesn’t give it, he gets mean.

Step Three: Gold forces Malcolm out of his life (again).

Rinse and repeat. It’s been at least two years since Gold and Malcolm had their last big fight; it had ended with Malcolm in jail and Gold sporting three awful gashes across his face. He could sit here in his shop and tell himself - rationally as can be - that Malcolm just wanted money from him. But Gold knew that in the end he’d fall for his own wishful thinking and Malcolm’s Perfect Parent act, and they’d go through the cycle all over again.

There was an easy way out this time. Gold was now dating Archie - in earnest, not in the weird cautiously-flirtatious way they’d been dating two years ago. And Archie, if he knew what was going on, would be a pillar of support and a much-needed voice of reason, someone to keep Gold from going back to his --

Gold swallowed hard, eyes twitching. His mind skittered around the word ‘abuser.’

Anyway, it was dumb to keep thinking about this stuff. He couldn’t tell Archie, because he’d told Archie last month that his childhood was a happy one, and if he told him about Malcolm now, Archie would know he was lying. Because to explain Malcolm, Gold would have to explain the neglect and abuse he went through till the age of nine, the abandonment, the nine months he’d spent homeless, the foster homes, the nuns at the group home…

“Gold?” said Archie gently, his eyes full of concern. “You’re doing it again.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” Gold said, slamming his hand down onto the counter. Archie jumped and Gold could feel himself flushing, embarrassed at his own outburst. He turned away for a moment, taking deep breaths where Archie couldn’t see him.

He was finally starting to calm down when his phone started ringing.

“I got it,” Archie said. Gold whirled around, managing to get out a strangled noise that almost sounded like “No!” before Archie grabbed Gold’s phone off the counter and answered it.

Gold froze, horrified.

“Hello?” Archie said. He hadn’t even finished the word when the caller interrupted him; all Gold could hear was loud, consistent static, but Archie’s eyes were wide and horrified. “Excuse me,” he said. The static shouting continued. “ _Excuse me_ ,” said Archie again, more forcefully. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

The static ended. Whoever was on the other line -- and Gold had a pretty good idea who it was -- had stopped talking. Archie pulled the phone away from his ear a little bit and stared at the caller ID. At this angle, Gold could just make out what it said.

Dad.

Archie raised the phone back to his ear. “That kind of talk …” His voice was still soft, but it was shaking with anger. “That kind of talk, directed at one’s son, is inappropriate, Mr. Gold. Inappropriate and _abusive--_ ”

“Archie,” Gold pleaded, his voice barely audible. “ _Please_.”

Archie didn’t seem to hear him. He and Malcolm appeared to be having a full conversation now, much to Gold’s dismay.

“It’s my business because I’m your son’s _friend_ ,” Archie said. “I wouldn’t tolerate that kind of speech from his worst enemy, let alone his father. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

Gold covered his face for a moment, mortified.

“ _No_ _one_ deserves to be spoken to that way by their parents,” Archie said, his voice getting embarrassingly high as he got angrier. Gold lowered his hands a little, now only covering his mouth. Archie was silent for a moment, just listening, before another sentence broke out of him. “What on Earth could he do to _deserve_ that?” he demanded, not even looking at Gold anymore. “Please, I’d _love_ to hear your excuses. What could _any_ _child_ do to deserve a father who--”

Gold needed to stop this conversation immediately, before Malcolm got a chance to answer that question. He lunged forward and slapped the phone out of Archie’s hands; it clattered across the floor and Archie stared after it for a moment, shocked, before turning to look at Gold.

Gold didn’t return the glance. He strode out from behind the counter and picked the phone up off the floor; he could still make out his father’s tinny voice, yelling, before he pressed _End Call_.

Silence. Gold stayed where he was, with his back to Archie, afraid to turn around. After a long moment, he heard Archie let out a shaky sigh.

“Jesus,” Archie said. “Gold, I -- is he --?”

“He’s under a lot of stress,” said Gold flatly. He slid the phone in his pocket and made his way back to the counter, keeping his gaze on the glass and not on Archie. “Right now, with … ah, travel expenses, and …”

He struggled to think of something that sounded better than gambling debts and court fees. At the same time, he was focusing hard on keeping his fingers away from his mouth, unwilling to suffer through more humiliation today.

“And …?” Archie said. Gold hesitated.

“And … adjusting,” he said. “To life in the States. He … it’s culture shock, I suppose. I had it, too.”

“Oh,” said Archie, his voice uncharacteristically monotone. “And did it make you call _your_ son a--”

He cut himself off, deciding last minute to spare Gold’s feelings. It didn’t matter; Gold could easily imagine what his father had said; he was more upset by the casual mention of Bae than anything else.

“No,” he said quietly. “It didn’t. But my son was ten years old when we moved to America, not a grown man.”

“Because that makes it okay,” said Archie, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Gold, did he -- when you were a kid, did he say things like that to you, too?”

Gold stared down at his hands. There were a lot of emotions bubbling up in him right now, but he took a deep breath and tried to force them down.

“I don’t really remember,” he said. Archie raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t remember if your dad ever cussed you out when you were a kid?”

“I don’t remember specific _words_ ,” Gold said, each syllable feeling like it were wrenched out of him. “He yelled sometimes. Most people do, when they’re forced to spend every moment of the day with a child. That’s just the way it _is_ , Archie. Children can be … _incredibly_ annoying, to be frank.”

He was remembering a specific instance, the time he got his dad in trouble at the age of six when he got caught shoplifting a package of lunchmeat from the grocery store. The incompetence of his younger self was still a source of great embarrassment to Gold; he hadn’t been wearing shoes that day (because he didn’t have any, which was his own damn fault, because they’d gotten stolen by another boy and he hadn’t had the guts to fight him) and he’d stepped on a shard of glass just as he was leaving. He’d fallen (silently, without crying, so at least he hadn’t called too much attention to himself) and the package had tumbled out of his shirt just as the cashier came over to see what was wrong. Dad had been furious.

“Children can be annoying?” Archie repeated. “Gold, look at me for a second.”

Gold decided to ignore that command.

“Are you thinking of Bae or are you thinking of yourself right now, when you were a kid?” Archie asked.

“Myself,” said Gold begrudgingly.

“Would you ever call Bae annoying?”

Gold finally looked up at Archie, looking scandalized. “No,” he said.

“Well--”

“But--”

“No buts,” Archie snapped. “Listen, Gold, I _know_ you. Your standards for yourself are way higher than everyone else’s and I’ve always _suspected_ it was because someone else got into your head and made you think you were -- were stupid, or weak, or _annoying_. Why don’t you tell me what things your dad found annoying and I’ll tell you what they really were?”

Gold could feel frustration mounting. “My father is  _stressed_ , Archie,” he said again. “That’s all it is. I don’t appreciate your attempts to paint me as a victim.”

Archie was silent for a while; Gold didn’t really want to know what he was thinking. He wanted to throw Archie out, or for a customer to come in and interrupt them. But the store was closed and Gold knew that forcing Archie to leave would just make things worse.

“Archie, I --” Gold started, but Archie interrupted him.

“Why didn’t you tell me your dad was moving here?”

Gold stuttered to a stop, staring at Archie with wide eyes.

“He _is_ living here, right?” Archie asked, holding Gold in a steely gaze. “I kind of assumed, but I don’t know for sure.”

“He is,” Gold said. His mouth felt dry.

“And,” said Archie, “since you two apparently have a … nice, healthy relationship, and you’ve definitely got the money to spare … why aren’t you helping him with the travel expenses? Since he’s so stressed about it?”

“He’s proud,” Gold said without hesitation; he was relieved that the lie came so easily. “He won’t accept it.”

Archie raised an eyebrow. “Do proud men typically scream and cuss at strangers?

Gold licked his lips, unsure what he could say. He thought over his options, forcing himself to remain calm and think rationally.

Archie was irrevocably convinced that Malcolm was a bad person. And earlier today, Gold had been wishing he could tell Archie _just_ _that_ , so it was a little silly to keep on denying things. If he told Archie the truth, he could have the support he needed to keep him from falling for his father’s tricks again. It would mean admitting that he’d lied before, about his childhood, but it seemed like Archie would believe he was lying no matter what, so did it really matter?

Gold bit his lip.

“Okay, Archie,” he said quietly. His voice was emotionless. “You’re right.”

Archie just stared at him, looking almost lost at this quiet confession. “I’m--?”

“My dad’s a prick,” said Gold succinctly. “And he doesn’t want help with travel expenses. That’s all I want to say about it, Arch -- I’m sure somewhere along the line, when you were studying psychiatry, you were taught how to respect people who are done talking for the day.”

His voice came out less gruff-sounding than he wanted it to; he just sounded tired and brittle. Archie looked at him with an identical sort of weariness in his eyes and nodded, a quiet concession.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to pry like that. Or force you to talk. I just …”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Gold. “It--”

His phone rang again. Gold pulled it out of his pocket and groaned in exasperation when he saw the caller ID; he clicked _Ignore_ and then set his phone on silent.

“Sorry,” he said to Archie. “He’ll tire himself out eventually.”

“Right,” said Archie awkwardly. “Well … I … thank you for the sweater.”

Gold blinked rapidly and let out a choked, surprised laugh. Archie snorted.

“I-I really like it,” he said between chuckles. “Sorry - I didn’t mean to - to make light of this, or anything--”

“Oh, shut up,” Gold said, still smiling. “I like your sweater too, as a matter of fact. And I think I’m done working for the day.”

Archie glanced at his watch; Gold still had an hour and a half till closing time, but Archie was never one to pass up extra time with his partner. It was his opinion that Gold worked too much, anyway.

He waited until Gold was done putting things away and then they walked out of the shop together, Gold locking the door behind him.

* * *

“We need to think of an alternate coping mechanism,” Archie said over the dinner table a few weeks later. They were snowed in and running off the generator; a blizzard was raging outside and Pongo was whining, always unsettled by storms. But of course, Archie would decide this was the perfect time to bring up Gold’s least-favorite topic.

“Thumb-sucking is a soothing technique,” Archie said. Gold closed his eyes and prayed for patience; he’d really come to hate the word ‘thumb-sucking.’ “So whatever we come up with has to be a good substitute in terms of comfort, you know what I mean? Like … okay, so little kids -- they suck their thumbs as a substitute for their mom’s nipple, right?”

“Archibald,” said Gold quietly, his eyes closed, “I’m trying to eat.”

Archie continued like he hadn’t heard. “At least, that’s why older kids do it. Really little babies - under six months - are just doing it out of instinct. They’ll even do it in the womb, before they know what a nipple is.”

Gold opened his eyes just to fix them on the ceiling.

“Kids suck their thumbs,” said Archie, “because they’re hungry, or scared, or tired. Well, basically, they’ll do it for just about any reason -- did, um, did Bae suck his thumb, too?”

Gold made no effort to hide his sigh. “For a while,” he said. “When he was four, after his mother left.”

“So he regressed,” said Archie. “That’s very common - in a way, that’s what _you’re_ doing, too.”

“Great,” said Gold without enthusiasm. He picked at his dinner, still hungry but now halfway-pouting. It didn’t feel right to eat when one was pouting.

“We’ve got to find something,” said Archie, “that’s _comforting_. At least as comforting as sucking on your mother’s--”

“I’m taking issue with the breast-feeding narrative,” said Gold, trying not to scowl. “First of all, I was a formula baby. So the whole premise of this being about my mother’s breasts is, one: disturbing, and two: erroneous. Why would I try to … _comfort_ myself like that if I never--”

“You must have had the habit when you were little,” Archie said dismissively. “Like I said, babies have a natural sucking instinct. You probably used thumb-sucking as a coping device when you were a kid and it just … stuck. Maybe you should ask your dad if you--”

“I am _not_ asking him about this,” said Gold hotly. “He doesn’t need anymore ammunition for his nasty phone calls.”

“Right,” said Archie. “Good point. Back to the subject at hand -- do you think a hug would work?”

Gold stared at Archie blankly. He was trying to imagine what he would look like hugging himself in public. As if reading his mind, Archie rushed to explain.

“I mean, whenever I see you sucking your thumb, I could stop you and hug you instead,” he said. “For at least thirty seconds, okay? Brief hugs hardly do anything, comfort-wise, but thirty-second ones...”

Gold considered it, his face pinched. “What if you aren’t there?” he asked.

“Then you come and find me,” said Archie with a shrug. “Eventually, you’ll just start going for a hug when you’re upset -- I, uh, I mean, it _is_ much healthier than just holding it all in, so …”

There was a long moment of silence; there was a draft in the house, no doubt caused by the blizzard outside, and Gold stifled a shiver.

“Gold?” said Archie cautiously. “Are you sure you don’t remember sucking your thumb at all as a kid?”

“Yes,” said Gold. “Quite sure, thank you.”

“Okay,” said Archie. “Sorry. I’m just -- you know, trying to figure this out.”

Gold shrugged, his tongue feeling like lead. It was not uncommon for him to be sure of something one moment only to remember a contradictory memory the next, and that was exactly what had happened when he said “yes” a moment ago.

He was young. Maybe five or six. And he was trying to sleep, but Dad was -- well, it was best not to think of those things at the dinner table. But Dad was there, doing something he’d tearfully apologized for once, many years ago, and the next day Gold -- Ian Gold, five years old -- was sucking his thumb and wouldn’t stop, and Dad was scolding him, telling him he was too old for that, that only babies ever--

“Gold?” said Archie. Gold didn’t respond for a moment; he could feel that his face had frozen into one of his most inscrutable expressions, the one he used whenever Mayor Mills was trying to get under his skin. And he was holding his breath without meaning to -- Gold inhaled through his nose and forced himself to keep eating his dinner.

“Sorry,” he said. “I zoned out. I think … your solution sounds fine.”

“Yeah?” said Archie, perking up. “I mean, if -- if you’re up for it, that’s great. And we can start doing that. But just know, I-I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you doing that, if it -- if it comforts you. Thumb-sucking isn’t an issue in and of itself, it’s just an indicator. If it helps you deal with … well, whatever you’re dealing with --”

Gold was biting on his fingers before he knew it, anxiety eating away at him. Archie noticed and fell silent; then he stood and walked over to Gold, pulling his hand away.

“Come on,” Archie said, holding his arms out for a hug. “Time for cuddles.”

Gold sighed. “Never say that again,” he said, but he stepped into the hug and allowed Archie to hold him. Thirty seconds passed, and Gold had to admit - begrudgingly - that he finally saw what the appeal in hugs was, now that he’d had one that lasted more than a moment.

“Okay,” said Archie, finally breaking the hug. Gold felt like he’d been dealt a crushing blow; he tried to remember if he’d ever felt safer in his life than he did just now and came up empty. “Are you done eating?” Archie asked.

Gold nodded and Archie gathered their plates off the table, depositing them in the sink.

“Let’s go watch some Christmas movies,” he suggested, gesturing to the living room. Gold nodded again, still thinking about the hug. Were long, nice hugs like that normal for other people? Is that why everyone liked them so much? He’d gone from irritated to comfortable to _pure_ _bliss_ in a matter of seconds.

Archie disappeared into the living room and Gold suddenly stopped walking, his eyebrows furrowed. He felt shaken; he had to do something about this.

With a deep breath, Gold stepped into the living room and took a seat on the couch, waiting for Archie to choose a movie. Gold watched him carefully, his eyes never leaving the other man’s back. Finally, Archie settled on _Miracle on 34th Street_ and plopped down on the couch next to Gold, already smiling.

Gold turned his eyes toward the TV and very deliberately put his thumb in his mouth. It was several minutes before Archie noticed, and when he did, he just silently removed the thumb and pulled Gold into an awkward side-hug. It was nowhere near as good as the first one.

Gold shifted after about three seconds of it, positioning himself so that he and Archie were facing each other and Gold was (inadvertently) straddling Archie. Archie raised his eyebrows, starting to smirk.

“So that’s what we’re doing?” he asked. Gold looked at him in confusion for a moment, then realized their positions and nearly fell off the couch.

“No!” he said. Archie caught him by the arm and pulled him back, even closer. “I wasn’t -- I’m sorry, I was just trying to --”

“Trying to get another hug?” asked Archie shrewdly. Gold clammed up, his cheeks turning red. “It’s fine,” said Archie. He rubbed Gold’s shoulders soothingly. “All you have to do is ask, you know. You don’t have to pretend to get caught sucking your thumb or anything.”

“Right,” Gold muttered. He pressed his face into Archie’s chest, trying to hide his blush. “It was just … a really nice … experience. That’s all.”

“You’ve never been hugged before?” said Archie uncertainly.

“Don’t be daft,” Gold said. “Of course I have. But it’s usually _brief_ , not a thirty-second-long ordeal.”

Archie chuckled. Gold shut his eyes, enjoying the reverberations from Archie’s chest. “Such an ordeal that you immediately wanted to do it again,” he said.

“Shut up. Leave me my dignity.”

Archie just hummed; he relaxed slowly, leaving Gold to relax with him, the movie still playing in the background. Gold put his ear directly over Archie’s heart, straining to hear the other man’s heartbeat.

“Let’s not talk about my dad anymore,” he said.

“We weren’t talking about your dad,” Archie said, clearing his throat.

“Right,” said Gold. “You’re right.”

“Do you _want_ to--”

“No,” said Gold. He sighed against Archie’s chest. “This is … a decent solution,” he said. Archie smiled a little.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And we’re not gonna talk about it anymore,” Gold added. Archie’s chest shook with laughter.

“Okay.”


End file.
